A Lapse In Trust
by Kristen Elizabeth
Summary: His scent had faded from her sheets. GSR?


Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: I've had a lot of free time lately since my roommate is out of town, and I don't have to waste a lot of time keeping the apartment up to her insane standards of cleanliness. Anyway, this was just something that popped into my head. Thanks for stopping by! And special thanks to Alison and Lisa for looking it over awhile back.

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A Lapse in Trust

by Kristen Elizabeth

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_I'd rather be mad with the truth, than sane with lies. -- Anonymous_

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The doorbell rang just as Sara was taking the teakettle off the stove. She snapped off the gas and grabbed her wallet, ready to pay the delivery guy. Visions of steaming vegetable chow mein had been dancing in her head since three a.m. that morning, but she'd been forced to put them off until her favorite restaurant opened at eleven. Now that it seemed like her wait was over, she was downright giddy.

Grissom had been gone for eighteen days, and the most exciting thing in her life was the arrival of her Chinese take-out.

She pulled the door open, and deflated when she saw Greg standing on her stoop. Before she greeted him, she looked over his shoulder, to see if maybe Li from Mandarin Dragon might be coming up behind, carrying a plastic bag of delicious salvation.

Yes, she was on a first-name basis with the delivery guy, and no, she was not going to ponder the pathetic nature of that fact.

"Hey, Sara." Greg's voice snapped her attention back to him. She frowned until he said, "Sorry to just show up like this."

"What's going on, Greg?" she asked, closing up her wallet.

He had his hands planted deep in the pockets of his pants. With his arms straight at his sides, he lifted his shoulders. "Couldn't sleep."

She was tempted to give him her bottle of Nyquil and send him on his way, but there was something in his eyes that suddenly bothered her. Actually it was the lack of something. There was no sparkle.

It was probably a bad idea, and she might end up regretting it if she had to share her spring rolls, but Sara pushed the door open further and gestured to him. "Come in."

Greg shuffled in tentatively, like a buffalo entering a china shop. He looked around and nodded listlessly. "Nice place. I like the purple walls."

"I read an article on how to improve the quality of your life by adding color to your surroundings." She didn't add that it had worked. "I was making myself some tea. Want a cup?"

He shook his head. "I don't wanna put you out."

Sara walked into the kitchen and rummaged through her cabinet for a box of orange spice. "Is something on your mind?" The sooner he talked about whatever was bothering him, the sooner she could be at peace with her food. Lately it had been her only source of comfort. She really should get to the gym and take care of the evidence of that fact, before people started jumping to conclusions about her belly.

Greg sat down on the very edge of her couch, like he was afraid he might break it. "I lied. I can sleep. But when I do…I keep having these nightmares."

She left her tea to steep and came back into the living area. "Have you talked to the shrink about it?"

"I thought they'd just go away. But they're not." Greg took a breath. "They're always about that night in the alley."

Sara hesitated, unsure of what to say to that. Of course he had nightmares. He'd damn well nearly been killed. And that was after being forced to run over one of the perps. She would have been surprised if didn't have bad dreams about all of it.

"When I wake up…I tell myself I should have done it different. You know? I should have…" He stopped.

"Should have what?" she prompted. "Done nothing? Let them keep beating that man while you waited for back-up?"

When Greg looked up, she was shocked to see tears in his eyes. Rather than making her completely uncomfortable, she had the sudden urge to sit next to him and put her arm around his shoulders. He seemed as surprised by it as she was.

"I would have done the same thing," Sara told him. "The exact same thing."

He shook his head. "I don't think so. You would have come up with something better." There was a wobble in his next words. "Sara Sidle wouldn't have killed."

Of course the doorbell rang just then. Muttering an apology, Sara got up and went the door. Li was waiting on the other side with her lunch and a big smile. She gave him a large tip to make up for the fact that she skipped their usual banter.

When she closed the door and looked back at Greg, he was staring at the floor, his back hunched over like Quasimodo. It was among the saddest things she'd ever seen.

"Greg." He glanced up and she held out the bag of food. "I ordered too much. Have you eaten?"

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He didn't have much of an appetite, so she ended up with leftovers. As they ate, they talked about cases, journal articles and lab gossip. Greg didn't bring up the nightmares again, and Sara was less than inclined to do it for him. She'd been having her own nightmares lately. Horrible dreams where her lover replaced her with a young, blonde Williams grad student.

But after she'd cleaned up the table and put away the remaining little white boxes in her fridge, she returned her attention to her unexpected dinner guest.

"I would kill," Sara said out of the blue, startling him as he examined the contents of her bookshelf. He turned around incredulously. "I used to think I wouldn't, under any circumstances. But now…" She nodded. "To protect someone I love or someone who can't help themselves…sure."

"Which category would I fall under?"

She blinked. "Greg…"

He held up his hand, shaking his head with a faint smile. "Withdrawn."

They stood in awkward silence for a long time. Finally, Sara cleared her throat. "I don't have much family. Okay…any family. So if you're in my life..." Their eyes met. "I must care about you."

She realized he was moving closer to her, but for some reason, she didn't step back. "Do you ever get tired of being alone?" he asked softly.

Eighteen days of Chinese take-out and cable movies. His scent had faded from her sheets, and her bed was always cold. She picked up the phone to call him every night, but never dialed. Would he have answered anyway?

Her body had gotten used to being touched again after so many lonely years. And now she was in withdrawal.

Greg kissed her before she could stop him.

There was no little voice telling her to stop. Apparently even her conscience didn't seem to mind being kissed again. Her body certainly didn't. His mouth was warm and firm and he was good at this. Surprisingly good at this. Maybe all of his talk actually had some fact backing it up.

His hand reached into her hair to cup the back of her neck. It was an intimate gesture. And it belonged to someone else.

Suddenly, Grissom was there, all around them. She could almost see his eyes, blue and sad, brimming over with betrayal. Yes, he had hurt her, abandoned her, and made her question the relationship she was just beginning to trust. But he didn't deserve this.

She let the kiss die. It took Greg a second to catch up. When he did open his eyes with a puzzled look, Sara took a small step back.

"I can't," she whispered.

His question was just as quiet. "Why not?"

She had no answer to give him that wasn't a cliché or a lie or the truth that had been hidden from the world for so long. But he was expecting one. And after everything he'd been through, she couldn't lead him on for one more second.

"You don't want me, Greg." Her lips felt slightly swollen, a pleasant sensation that she missed with more desperation than she thought herself capable of feeling. "You deserve better."

His chuckle was hard and acidic. "I figured that out of all the women who've rejected me, you at least would come up with something original."

"Don't do that." Sara shook her head. "It's not you."

"Yeah, well. It hasn't been a very good year so far."

"I know."

He sighed after a moment. "I should go."

"Greg," she stopped him again. "I wasn't lying. I care about you."

"Sure. Like Nick or Warrick."

Sara looked down at the floor. "I'm sorry."

"C'mon." He nudged her bare toe with his shoe until she glanced back up. Her eyes were dry, but bloodshot. "I know the score. I just figured with him gone…out of sight, out of mind, right?" Greg paused. "But he's not ever really gone, is he?" He pointed to the door after a moment of silence. "I'll let myself out."

Greg was gone for twenty minutes before she worked up the courage to pick up the phone. She dialed slowly and waited. His voice mail message was short and to the point, but she cherished every word.

Yet at the beep, Sara froze. She hit the end button a second later. It would show up as a missed call, but that was better than a rambling confession.

She got the leftover chow mein out of the fridge and sat in the living room, eating congealed noodles and cold bamboo shoots.

* * *

"Do you trust me?"

The question had rolled off her tongue. At least it came at an opportune moment. When holding a razor to someone's face, it seemed almost impolite not to make sure that they really did have faith in you.

There was no way for him to tell that question asked so much more.

He answered with unexpected confidence and unmistakable desire. It was a strange feeling, standing in his bathroom, scraping away the beard that left too much evidence of their relationship all over her face and neck.

His eyes remained closed, lost in a blissful state of belief in her. And with each stroke, she was reminded of how misguided that conviction might be. They hadn't spoken much since his return. Most of their limited time together had been spent rediscovering each other's bodies. She had a new smattering of freckles from working an outdoor scene. He had lost a few pounds thanks to the unappetizing cafeteria food on campus.

But every time his lips met hers, she thought of Greg Sanders. It couldn't go on this way. Even if she lost his trust forever, he had to know. She'd want to know.

She finished without ever breaking his skin. It was only when she lowered the blade that her hand began to shake. As she rinsed the shaving cream off the razor, and he patted his face with a warm, wet towel, Sara turned to him, summoning every ounce of her courage.

"I have to tell you something."

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Fin 


End file.
